Saturday, February 19, 2005

Power of the Pen..er stylus!

Got me a Palm Pilot the other day. It was a free gift. Though I had thought of buying one of these a year back, I realized that I may not really need one now. The uses I have for it I can perform on my phone. Until I get a memory card so I can use it for music, it is basically an electronic notebook for me to scribble into.

And scribble I did last night.

Went out for a fish fry like all good Catholic boys do (unlike my pagan friend JW). I brought the PDA along and decided to jot down any funny or stupid things that may be said. Part of it was joke, but part was to add items to this here log. Little did I realize how much fun whipping it out (the PDA that is) would be.

On the advice of others I suggest we go to Amelias for their fish fry. Nothing out of the ordinary there. It was crowded when we got there, as expected. Yet somehow, we were seated within 10 minutes. Not bad. They led us to the back room where we sat by the fireplace. The food arrived not too long after we had some drinks. And soon the first atrocity to the french fry would be viewed.

I was totally shocked when I watched A dip her fries into the tartar sauce. Disgusting! J had to chime in that she did the same thing. Huh? Spare that poor fry people! Tartar sauce is for fish, not fries. That made me turn my stomach. But not as much as J saying she puts mustard on tater tots. I just about yacked into the fireplace.

I thought it couldn't get much worse until they told me that R puts hot dogs on his pizza. Ok, I have heard it all. Last time I go out to eat with this bunch of freaks. Last time! Well, that is until next week.

I have scribbled notes during dinner and am beginning to see the fear in their eyes when the Pilot comes out. Hey, this is fun. We head over to Big Mama's House, formerly known at the most beloved bar on the earth, PJs, to check out what is going on over there. Answer: Not much. Should be some more people in there but it is a bit early (7ish). Throughout the night, it didn't really get busy. They had some friends come in but not much else. Won't survive that way. They did give us free drinks throughout the night, though. Plus, they keep the place pretty dark inside. I can't tell if it is that the lights are low or that they don't have enough signage to light the place up.

Anyhow, we get a round and sit at a table. As much as I would like to sit in the corner like the good ol’ days, I can’t because Big Mama is there sucking down her Kesslers (now rail because of her!). A makes the comment of hoping she doesn’t look like that in 20 years. I quipped back that she will look that way in 20 minutes. There, I have done it, the gloves are off! But she set me up. And this is only after a couple of beers.

But the beer isn’t going down too well. My dinner is not digesting well and I feel like I could burst. I walk around a bit and it slowly settles down. Before you know it, I am downing bottles with no problem.

The night progresses and I jot things down. Now, as I try to read what I wrote down, I realize that my writing is terrible while drinking. My notes are barely legible. I wish I could copy over this one message in particular. The conversation had turned to Vegas and R had the great idea of organizing one trip every just for the guys. Problem is, Ernie doesn’t fly. But we had a solution. We could tape A bitching to him. We would then drug him and get him on a plane, kinda like what the A-Team did to Mr. T’s character, B A Baracus. Then when we landed, we could play the tape and he would think he was still at home. We figured we could also just stuff him into the overhead and save some money on the flight.

See that. The best ideas thought up while drinking. Only while drinking do you think that the A-Team had a great idea.

I then learned that Gambino had velcro boobs. Amazing how life like they truly are.

After being at Big Mama’s house for 2 ½ hours, I finally reach a milestone. I make A’s shitlist. Yes!!! Chalk up another goal for the year. And it gets better. She won’t talk to me. Yeah, that promise is broken not so long after it was made.

I continue to have fun with the Pilot and start writing stuff to make A paranoid. I even show her one that read “Maybe I am wrong, A is rather sweet” and show it to her. Maybe I should have shown her the second page that said “ok, maybe not!”

I let Gambino doodle on the Pilot. She draws a snail. Um..ok. Nice snail though. I see I put on note for myself on there that says we are getting 3 inches of snow on Sunday. Damn. I check the forecast and it doesn’t look too bad after all.

I see a note now that says “Sphincter Man! I can bend my wife into 500 positions!”. Ok, I am not sure what the hell that means. It was probably funny last night, but now I have no clue.

I see that Gambino grabbed J’s beer and began to drink it. I asked how could she, because J’s lips have been on R’s pecker, thus your lips have been on his pecker. Doesn’t matter according to her because R came in J’s eye, not her mouth. DOH! Too funny the story behind that one. For those that don’t know, let me retell it right here. Wait, that would take a bit of time. Maybe later.

At this point, tragedy just about struck. I pulled the Pilot out of my jacket and the stylus was gone. At first I suspected foul play and glared at A. But she says she didn’t do it. When everyone started looking on the floor and such, I realized that somehow it had fallen out. It clicks in and shouldn’t come out, but did. It fell into my jacket. I was able to retrieve. In case I didn’t do it last night, I apologize to A for accusing her and at least inferring she did it.

End of notes. I left Big Mama’s around 11:30 but not after grabbing Lisa’s boob. Gambino said I could. Plus, I believe Lisa likes it when some guy comes up from behind, hugs her and cops the feel.

When I got home, I then stayed up to play some poker in a freeroll tourney. Didn’t get to bed until 3. And I didn’t win the freeroll, coming in 12. Damn!